


Serge the lonely wolf

by mortianna



Category: James McAvoyrealm
Genre: F/M, M/M, Macavoyfandom, Multi, jamesmcavoy, some roles played by James McAvoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:41:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29379393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mortianna/pseuds/mortianna
Summary: Pic of James McAvoy looking like a French singer to me started that. Should have been a short one off, is now a really long story I post here cause I'm now in series two plus epilogue plus Vignette and need to keep track. This will have various pairing, heartbreak and really grown up themes psychologically. First it's only Serge we meet, then there are many more, some of them played by James McAvoy (in my mind, mind :-)Last part already written is up here to under my name and another Serge title but the in between I still need to post.Serge is a bar owner in Avignon France. He seems to be a loner adored by men and women alike but that is not the whole truth. Is it ever?!
Relationships: Serge Dupont/Genevieve Dupont Genevieve Dupont/Etienne Ricard
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

Meet Serge. Serge has a little Bar in Avignon. He does the cooking himself, is a decent cook, and after Dinner he sings quite nicely. He's rather tall for the south of France, smokes Bastos, drinks strong red wine and never smiles in the open. He's the dark brooding type and all the women there fall for him, one after the other or more at a time. His bar is even a Hotspot for women from all over the world ... some tell him he looks like an actor from far up North in a cold country with an incomparable language but Serge will hear none of it. He is the king of his Realm and hasnt got a social media account and so has only to deal with the nutcases in real life.

Bonjour💕 ca, c'est Serge. He is already sitting at one of his cute little tables, looking brooding and sexy af without even trying before his first black strong coffee and a Croissant he won't eat, just dabble with. He is wearing that ring just so he doesn't get the most obscene offers in the streets when he shops for his bar, but that doesn't help much. Avignon is not that big a city....  
The second guy is his young nephew, Etienne. Etienne has already quite a following himself, but thinks about leaving his home town for the lure and dazzling lights of Paris. His dream is to have a charming little bookshop/bakery at the pont des arts or sacre coeur down montmartre and call it coquelicot. 

After working in his bar, Serge likes to take a stroll through the dark deserted streets of Avignon at night. He likes being alone and outside after having entertained people inside for most of the day. He doesn't live close to where he works, so there is a goal for his lonely ramblings. He likes to pretend then he's the only person awake in town but finds strange consolation in feeling all the sleeping souls in the dark houses. In nights like these when he manages to be alone that is, he even has poems in his head accentuated by every step he takes but he never writes them down. Perhaps some time he will.

Ca, c'est Frédéric. Il est le petit frère de Serge. Okay, he is the little brother and the black sheep of the family. This is a photo from afar from somewhere in the south of America to where he has fled. Serge doesn't talk about it, he's not a big talker anyhow, but rumour has it that Frédéric or Freddy has broken more hearts than the devil himself. Or Serge. And other than Serge he not only broke those hearts but promised the owners of said hearts more than he was willing or able to give. Nobody knows if he's married once, twice or a hundred times, fathered one, two or more children but he fled from cute Avignon and douce France after he had lured women into giving him money under the name of his brother on a social media account. The police asks for help, but don't get too close, the man is dangerous, he is said to be able to make you do anything, some say he has magic powers. Handle with extreme care.

Serge has seen it all. He can't be taken for a fool and doesn't suffer them gladly himself. If he feels like it, he sings in the kitchen preparing tasty dishes typical for la Provence, avec beaucoup d'ail, des herbes et des olives noirs. He has two or three young waitresses of unknown relationship to him, but he goes around in the bar himself, too. When there are people staying for un petit rouge after Dinner or come in pour un pastis or un café, he sits down at his Piano at the backside of the room and plays a bit. That seems to relax him and the guests love it. He has a singing voice like Paolo Conte, speaking of many long nights with wine and cigarettes. If he manages to close the bar alone, he loves sitting down in front of a bar at the pont d'Avignon and watching the waters of the majestic Rhône go by, smoking a cigarette and sipping at a glass of Chateauneuf du Pape. Most times he doesn't stay alone for long though.


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more about Serge. And enter the heroine.

Serge has been married once, as is still the custom in his home town. But then something or someone happened - and as in most cases there were a lot of somethings or someones involved - and since then he has been the lonely wolf living for his bar, doing the same old things every day. He's quite happy with it he would say if asked. But no one ever asks. It's not the kind of question asked in his society. But he was quite happy back then. He hides this pic in a cupboard and looks at it sometimes. The woman is long gone, where nobody knows. And so Serge is sitting at his table with his dark black strong café, his nimble fingers stroking and destroying a Croissant and afterwards taking out of somewhere in his pockets a pack of Bastos and with an ancient lighter he lights the first cigarette of the day. He is not a heavy smoker, he enjoys smoking, it's one of his little joys. And freedoms. Of course smoking is restricted in the south of France like everywhere on the planet, but what good does having a bar on your own do if you can't live by your own rules? And Serge does. Live by his own rules. Soon he will leave his table and walk to the market to get some fresh produce for his kitchen. And he will pretend not to notice the many women going out of their way to be noticed by him. And some men.

Serge est allé au marché. As mostly every day. He could get stuff from the big stores outside town where most of the other Restaurant/bar-owners/cooks buy, but Serge doesn't need that many groceries and he likes them fresh. He likes to go through the rows of the market, look here a bit, touch there, feel the freshness and quality himself without plastic between him and #stuff. When he is satisfied and ideas form in his head as to what he's gonna do with the groceries - there is no fixed menu, he writes the menu du jour on a black board in front of the door like in them days -, he walks into one of the many bars around the place du marché and has the second café of the day and the first p'tit Rouge. He drinks both standing at the bar, talking to the bar man about the news of the town. Never about politics, someone tried that once and Serge picked up a fight the other lost and that night is still rumoured among the inhabitants of Avignon and nobody dared ever again. While now listening to the barman's talk about who does whom and who died etcetera, he hears steps from behind and sees the face of the man drop. Serge turns around. "You are back".

Serge sees a woman. A woman with red hair, a bit dampened by time. Time seems to stand still, come to a stuttering halt as they look at each other. "From all the bars in the world you come into mine", says Serge still not moving a limb, only looking. He's a great looker. "Wä", says the woman who is indeed his former wife, in that drawl spoken in the south of France that is so different from the French of Paris. "This is not your bar, Serge", says the barman, "what do you want to drink, Geneviève?" The woman ignores the other man and in fact all the other people in the bar, steps closer to Serge and slaps him in the face so hard that it makes a sound so loud that all chatter would stop hadnt it anyhow. Only the soft music in the background is there. 'la mer'. "Putain de bordel de merde", the woman says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would be so much better with pics I tell you.


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit more about Serge and his story. Heartbreak. Still very much introductory. The whole first part is rather. Hang in here if you want to :-)

Serge and Geneviève met 15 years ago on a very formal event in the town Hall. Serge doesn't recall what the evening was about, but he vividly remembers seeing Geneviève for the first time, all red hair, white skin, a big laughing red mouth and some kind of white frill dress. His eyes followed her every move, he was a great looker even back then, perhaps even more so. He doesn't recall eating or what was served even if he was very much interested in food back then, more than in the job he had at the time and which had brought him to that Dinner. That job had served its purpose that evening and Serge left it the next day. He remembers following the young woman whose name he didn't yet know, out of the Hall, as if in a dream. She had stood outside, in the light of an ancient Lantern, just like in a fairy tale and had lighted a cigarette. A cigarette that had been blown out and away by a sudden gush of wind. Geneviève had used the same invective she used now. She had a filthy mouth and came from Carcassonne. That day Serge had started smoking.

Serge tries not to move but the slap was hard. Geneviève is a butcher's daughter and helped her father in his business in Carcassonne before she moved to Avignon, met Serge and helped him in the bar. She makes art from metal, that's her true calling, or it was as far as Serge knows. She is thin but strong. Possibly stronger than him. Always was. And he always knew that. "Nice to meet you too. I'm not sure I deserve that, though". Geneviève makes a hmpf sound, enters the barstool close to Serge and for the first time acknowledges the barman. "Give me one of those too, Pierre, will you?" The barman nods and pours her a p'tit rouge and a strong black coffee. Without looking at anyone, the woman starts to drink. Serge looks on very composed.

Serge needs some fresh air. Geneviève just sits there and doesn't look at him or anyone, just broods and drinks. He can't and would never slap her back, but he will be damned if he sits here and waits for her verdict. As if she thought he should know what he's done to deserve this. He has done a lot in his life, yes, but that is none of her business and if she comes back after all these years just to slap him in the face, she's had it. He throws some money down, takes his groceries and leaves the bar. She doesn't follow him. Serge shakes his head. He doesn't understand this woman and never has. How can he if she doesn't talk? Serge gets the groceries into his bar and leaves the town in his ancient car. He drives into the direction of the mountains. He has a private place there, one he goes to if he really needs to think about something. He doesn't know about what to think today, there is nothing he can think about really, she gave him no hint but of course all his usual serene tranquility is gone and his thoughts run in all directions. He walks in the mountains in a quick stride until his nervous energy gives way to some sort of comfortable exhaustion. Serge sits down and looks into the Rhônevalley. The beautiful sight calms his mind further. That woman is mad. He will have nothing to do with it. He will go on living the life he lead before she entered the bar. That life was his and it was good. With a new decisiveness he leaves his mountains for the town.


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more about the relationship and the problems. Plus James sitting at a piano singing like Paolo Conte. Erm, Serge of course :-)

When Serge enters the little rue where his bar is located, he stops in his track. There are small tables and chairs standing outside, the ones he had put into the deepest recesses of his cellar when... He walks again. Faster now. There are people sitting at the tables, they greet him, they are from Avignon, he knows them, but don't they look strangely at him?!? He goes into the bar. His bar. Why is it open anyhow? Did one of the girls open it? But there is food on the table, mostly crudités et fromage et des saucissons, but somebody must have prepared it nonetheless. None of the girls would do this without direct order, he's sure of that. All tables in the bar are occupied. And there is just one waitress. None of the girls. And behind the bar is ... "putain de bordel de merde". Serge makes his way into the kitchen, ignoring Geneviève and the barman and starts to work. It's his bar, it's his kitchen and it's his fucking life. And he will show her, them that. 

Serge, Geneviève and the barman are a good team. They work fluently together. They always have. They don't have to talk, Geneviève just orders and Serge prepares the food. He doesn't look up, he doesn't think. At least not much. When there have been no more orders for food for a quarter of an hour and Serge has cleaned away his stuff, he walks out of the kitchen, nods to the barman and sits down at the piano. He just warms his hands at first, nodding to the people sipping on their drinks and eating the last crumpets looking at him. They're all regular customers, they know him and they know his history as he knows theirs and they know the woman who now takes a chair and sits down on it the wrong way and watches him, throwing back her long red hair. Serge doesn't look but he feels her gaze. His fingers find the melody themselves. He hears a deep sigh from the woman but doesn't react. He just plays on.

Serge plays. He doesn't sing. He doesn't look up. Everybody stops doing anything. Then the people leave one by one, paying at the bar as they don't want to disturb the crying woman or the man laying his whole everything into the play. There's nothing to say, nothing to do. Only listening to the dream like melodies that fill the room. Even Serge doesn't have the feeling he makes them. They come through him, from where he doesn't venture to know, make it into life and then vanish into the air. Then sometime, light years later or just seconds or an hour, the barman stands a glass of wine onto the piano and Serge opens his eyes.   
Serge is looking at the barman but he is not talking to him. The barman shrugs and shows his most insolent boyish smile. Serge moves his lips, then his left eyebrow, then takes a sip of the wine. It's the good one, the other man knows what he likes. He nods and the barman nods back. Then Serge looks at the woman. Who looks straightforwardly at him. With red eyes. He raises his eyebrow again. She looks at him defiantly. "You still leave the keys at the same place". As if that were an explanation. Serge looks on, then nods. "Yes I do".

Serge and Geneviève look at each other as time goes by. The barman coughs. Serge makes an irritated gesture as if trying to catch a fly bothering him. "What did you have to bring him for"? The woman seems to feel just the tiniest bit uncomfortable under bis gaze. "Couldn't do all the work myself, could I!" Serge looks on, then nods. This is still no explanation for anything but he is a patient man and not very good with violence. "Plus, he's your nephew". Serge hits his beloved piano with his fist.


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some background and action in Avignon. Story evolved as said from one pic, and then it became a universe :-) with a lot of roles played by James McAvoy. :-)

The woman jumps up to keep the glass from falling and spilling the oily dark red fluid onto the piano. Successfully. She stands it onto the nearby table and sits down again, pulling the chair a bit closer to Serge. She has always been bold, strong and courageous. But she has been other things with less than nice names too. Serge looks her directly into the eyes. He has long and often thought about what to say should that occasion arise, not believing it ever would. "I always knew he was my nephew. But you two seemed to have forgotten".

The young man, Etienne, comes to his uncle and the woman from behind the bar. He doesn't say anything, just stands there behind the chair on which Geneviève is sitting. Serge looks up to him for a moment and is irritated as always by seeing his own features, only younger, as if looking into a rearview mirror.  
"I didn't forget that, uncle", says the young man, "but it didn't change things. Im sorry but not sorry, you understand?"   
Serge opens his mouth and his fist, but before anything comes out of it, Geneviève takes the hand of the young man. "I got this. You leave. I come home later". The young man frowns, then nods, then kisses the woman on the top of her head, waves in the direction of his uncle, then leaves the bar. Serge looks stunned but feels his temperature rising. He moves to look at the woman again, who looks at him defiantly.

Serge feels like lying down and never getting up again. But he doesn't. He moves his hand to take the glass and takes a sip, the eyes of the woman following his every gesture. He stands the glass down again, then asks, in a quite conversational tone he can be proud of: "So you've been living with him?" She nods. "Nobody told me". She shrugs. "In Paris?" She looks taken aback. "No". "Thought I heard he wanted to go there". "Yes. He does". Serge stops himself from grinning. But she sees it, of course she does, and her face looks grim. Then smiles. "So where do you live then?" "A Orange", she says. "Not that that is any of your business". Serge takes that and gulps it down. Will have to digest that later, make it part of his system, that they have lived just 30 kilometers away. His ex-wife and her lover, his nephew. For now: "So why did you feel the need to come here? Now? And slap me in the face"? Geneviève looks at him, then stands up and gets her big bag from behind the bar, takes out some printouts and throws them on the piano. "Putain de bordel ...". Serge raises his hand, looks at her in a way that makes her sit down again and grabs one of the printouts. And is stunned.

The woman looks at him as if she were about to jump into his face. She can do that, he knows it, but only if he let's her. And he won't. He holds her wrist and her gaze, until she succumbs to his eyes and sits down again. He lets go of her wrist. And grabs the pics she threw at him. Looks at them for a long time while the woman looks at him, her gaze changing from angry over triumphant to ... subdued? A bit afraid as if she had been caught out being wrong? Serge scratches his beard. "Come with me", he says in his darkest voice.

Serge lights another cigarette and gets up. Geneviève looks at him mesmerized and gets up too. He shows the direction with his hand in a gesture from a long forgotten time of politeness and lets her go first. Which she does after a rather long and indescribable gaze into his eyes. Is there something like a faint grin on Serge's face or only the usual "je ne sais quoi" that gives him an aura of "know it all, been there, done that" unattainableness that is simply irresistible? Has always been. Will always be. And has nothing to do with clothes or cars or anything else than just personality. Geneviève walks through the kitchen and stands in front of a door. She has her hand at the handle but looks back at Serge. He nods with just the tiniest smile. Geneviève opens the door.

Geneviève opens the door and her right hand finds the light switch instantly. It's a tiny room the dim light is illuminating, without windows, perhaps four square meters, with a bed occupying the wall behind the opening door and a small table with a computer on it and a chair before it on the end of the room which is reached with two or three steps. Other than that there is only an old battered cupboard with piles of paper, an ashtray and some glasses and bottles. It looks like a firefighter's nightmare but even as an office it's rather sad. Geneviève sighs. "Not much into decorating, are you?!", she asks and sits down on the far end of the bed. "Never were". Serge smiles a sad little smile, extinguishes his cigarette in the ashtray, sits down on the chair and starts the computer. "It's not so much about how anything looks", he says, "but what it does. Equally true for people. Which brings us back to our topic."

Serge sees that Geneviève is surprised and smiles perhaps the tiniest bit. Then he concentrates on working the computer, it's an old model, just like his car and just like that it needs some special treatment to do its work or so Serge believes. And truth be told, Serge is not much into technics and most times charms one of the girls into doing the necessary stuff. But he knows what he's looking for and the way to find it. His fingers move on the keyboard and if he notices that Geneviève watches them he doesn't show it. The monitor seems to think about working or not, then suddenly there are pictures, a lot of them. And they all show ... "Putain de bordel de merde". Geneviève jumps up and shows with her finger on the monitor, on the pics, and brushes Serge's shoulder with her breast. Serge again pretends not to notice. "There they are. And more. Many more". Serge sighs and moves a bit, so that the body of the woman doesn't touch his anymore. "Yes. And that's my name".

Geneviève boxes the air and Serge can only imagine what it takes her not to box him instead. He can understand her, if even partly, but he can not pity her. If there's any pity left in him, he saves it for... He looks at her in a way that makes her sit down on the bed again and avert her eyes. For a second. Then she looks at him again, stubborn as anything. Serge grins faintly. He wouldn't expect anything less of her. This woman always had balls, big ones. That was the one thing that attracted him to her the most, apart from looks and all that. He needs someone to hold their ground against him, even or especially if they are in love with him as they claim. And that couldn't be said of many people in his life. Of course he discovered this truth relatively late. "Look closer", Serge now says to Geneviève, "not at me. Look at the photographs". The woman takes her gaze from his face to the monitor as if she would rather not. She gasps. Serge nods. "Yes".

"Photomontage?", asks Geneviève. Serge snorts. He looks for a tolerably clean glass, pours some wine from an open bottle and hands it to Geneviève. She makes a face but takes a sip, then hands it back to Serge, again moving closer to have a good view on the monitor but not touching the man this time. Serge takes a deep gulp too, then says: "Certainly. I never walked the Chinese Wall. Or jumped from a high building. Was a soldier and taken hostage by paramilitary. What is this? Okay, I might have done that". He chuckles. "But I certainly never walked a stage with thousands of admiring people". He takes another gulp and hands the glass back to Geneviève. "But perhaps he owned a motorbike once. I don't know". "Frédéric", says Geneviève and it isn't a question. Serge nods, his brow furrowed. "Yes. My little brother. Your ... boyfriend's father. Not that he ever was much of one." Geneviève shakes her head, still not believing, understanding and Serge can't hold it against her. He wouldn't believe it either, hadnt he had the same problem before. Or dealt with it all his life. His fingers dance on the keyboard again and another site opens, an official looking one and Serge enters some words and gets deep down there. The woman watches in awe and says one word: "Why?"

"That explains why there have been so many lately", says Serge, his fingers hitting the keyboard. "Again". A deep sigh. Geneviève looks as if she doesn't understand a word and yet does. "They call it impostor syndrome. It's a compulsion. Like wanting to drive cars you don't own. Fitting. He has made a business out of it. Seems to go well again". "What?", asks Geneviève as new images turn up on the screen. "How do you get into the police computer?" Serge sighs again. "All my secrets getting unveiled today, aren't they? They still want to think I'm on a hiatus and come back and rejoin them. And as he's using my name, a friend thought I was entitled to the info the police have. Haven't logged on in ages though. Thought he was through with it after he fled". Geneviève seems to process all that. "But why does he use your name?" Serge sighs again. He hasn't sighed that much in years. "He was always like that. Wanted to have what I have. Be where I was. Childhood problems unsolved. It's always the mother's fault." He smiles a painful smile. "Or the father's. Maybe it's hereditary. It's not Etienne's fault perhaps that he took you away under my nose when I gave him a home and a job after his father ... Well Frédéric was 15 when... Not ready to be a father. Doubt he would be now but..." He turns the full gaze of his eyes on the woman. "That doesn't explain why you did it though. And why all this should be your problem and why you come here now because of some random photos after you left me years ago. It's not your business at all. We're not married anymore and even if I would be doing all the things you thought I was ... you are the last person on earth to complain".

Serge feels like the ton of bricks has come down onto him after all. He knew it, part of him did, how could he not, he never got as much as a paper saying it was done, but... She had filed for divorce, he had signed the papers and for him that had been it. Why didn't she...? That woman will be the death of him. His life had been really bad at first, then okay and had really become quite good lately. Brilliant even. And what time would that blast from the past choose to turn up again and turn everything upside down? Exactly. Carpets were there for a reason. You could keep all your old dust underneath it. Till someone came and pulled the rug from under your feet... Serge looks longingly for the cigarettes but no, he has made a decision. "And that changes exactly what?", he asks. Geneviève's face turns red, then white. Her skin has always been very sensitive, much more than the woman herself, looks can, after all, be deceiving. She stands up and grabs her purse. "I only went with Etienne because he was like you when you were younger", she says. "I'm not proud of it, but you changed so much after ... I tried to talk to you but you wouldn't listen. Or answer". Serge feels something inside break but he just looks on sternly. Geneviève looks at him for a moment longer, then tears come flooding out of her eyes and with a hectic move she makes for the door. She drops her purse and all kinds of stuff are lying on the floor. There is a photo, battered and torn at the edges, of young Serge the night they met. They both kneel on the floor now and Serge feels something give way inside and wanting out. They look at each other for a long time, both crying. Then there's something else. A noise from the Cafe. And a voice. "Serge? Are you there, love?"


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soemone else enters the scene. This came from a pic of Michael Fassbender sitting on a barstool. He had to come in there. You know why :-)

Serge and Geneviève freeze as in a movie. Then the woman's face shows all kinds of feeling...anger, betrayal, loss, and a deep something underneath. Serge remembers suddenly how deep she felt and her eyes always showed that. He looks at her as if wanting her to stay calm - what he wants, exactly, but what can he do about it, really? - and shouts: "Coming in a minute, love". He can't be sure that the person outside doesn't come in now, but he tries, he knows there is no escape, there is no backdoor and he doubts that he can make his ex-wife, well, technically still his wife, wait in this room until ... No. No way. Serge sighs. Geneviève mouths the word "love" as if that would help to get her mind around the fact that there is love in Serge's life, other than the many women and some men who fell for him and who he picked up on his way. Serge had had quite a life before he had settled with her and the rumours about what he could do were all true. She had been an idiot to go with Etienne, but at the time it seemed the only option left if she wasn't going to die a long slow death in a marriage to a man who had closed himself off from her and lived totally secluded in himself. Serge still looks at Geneviève. Suddenly he can read her face again like he used to. "So you would now leave my nephew as you left me, just like that?", he asks. Geneviève shrugs. "He is so young. He'll want to have a family some time. And I ... don't". Serge nods slowly. "And he wants to go to Paris. And you don't". Geneviève nods. They look at each other and start to laugh, a laugh that comprises everything, loss, pain, love and the futility of trying to achieve anything permanent in life. There's more understanding between them than there ever was and then someone is standing in the door. A big shadow. Serge sighs and lets go of Geneviève's hands. Then he turns to the person in the doorway. "Mon petit chou, that's my former wife who just happens to still be married to me. Geneviève, meet Pierre, the light of my life".  
SERGE not yet epilogue😎  
Serge feels like crying again. Another thing he has not felt like doing in years and now it doesn't seem to stop with this emotional stuff. Then again: what has he done wrong?! Nothing. Well, nothing compared to the many things he could have and others have done wrong and in the grand scheme of things ... The tall man moves. "Well this is a surprise". The woman snorts. "Well, I think you could say so. I am too. I never heard a word of it". Serge gives an irritated groan. "Well, why should you? This is none of your business. Lets get the fucking divorce after all and everybody can go their ways. Just sign the fucking papers. Or do we have to go through the whole process anew? Not my fault, again". The woman shrugs and now looks at the other man who looks with equal interest at her. "You really do all the rumours justice", Pierre says. "You're quite a handful it seems". Serge snorts. Now the gaze of the taller man goes to him. "And, light of my life, it seems your words don't fit your deeds. When you were sitting there, it didn't look like divorce was in the air to me". Serge just stares. He's good at staring, but the other man could bend metal with his gaze. "Didn't feel like divorce to me, too", says Geneviève, extremely helpful. Serge sighs again. If he is honest to himself, and at least it has been a constant effort of his since his wife went away, it hadnt felt like that to him, too. "So that leaves us where exactly?", he asks no one in particular and knows he's the one to answer that question himself. All three look at each other, then someone takes a step forward. It's not Serge.


	7. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue. One year later. Thought that was the end, but wasnt. There's more, many more. To come :-)

One year later.  
Serge still puts on his lonely Wolf Aura and dark brooding face, but nothing could be farer away from the truth. The truth being that as neither Geneviève nor Pierre were willing to give him up, for reasons Serge doesn't even start to comprehend, they somehow managed to become something known in the old times as "menage à trois", which sometimes feels like a wobbly truce but most often like something bordering on happiness. Serge and Geneviève have the bar together, Geneviève has added some female touches here and there after hard fights of course. In the evening, Pierre joins them, tends the bar and if Serge can't prevent that, he sings. He must have gaelic ancestors, as much is true. Serge still has his times where he has to be alone, but Geneviève and Pierre cope quite well with his absences and everybody copes well with fits of jealousy. Etienne has gone to Paris and leads a happy Single life there. Freddy still lives in Argentina, doesn't feel too well though and looks a bit lost. He's in contact with his brother who promised to take care of him should he ever come back and Pierre backs that up. Of course there's a lot of gossip about their way of life in town, but Pierre has methods to stop that. Overall, Serge calls himself a happy, lucky man and this is really the   
Happy End. 😥😥😥💖 Fin

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna put some of the Instaparts together in one. This is only the introduction for th efirst characters. I never meant this to become that big, so bear with me, if you please, it will become a story. really :-)  
> I thought I could post pics here. But don't find it, sorry. Any hints?


End file.
